Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity.
Summary: Molly counts. She Promised to help him. But, the reality of saving Sherlock ends up leading to places she never expected. Sherlock needs her again, but this time she must save John.

Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated.

I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Not as naughty as this." John pulls her over on top of him and nips at her neck sliding his hand along her chin. "Give me six good reasons you won't let me make love to you tonight. I know you're aroused. You want too. I want to. Six. Good. Reasons."

Molly's breathing lurches in and out of her lungs and she fights to say something, because the truth is, she can smell him too and he is giving off some very tempting male perfume and the way he's positioned her, it is obvious that this question is only a joke if he can't talk her into a different sort of game. "Because, we've had too much to drink." She begins holding out her thumb and trying to ignore his hands that seem to be roaming awfully close but just short of that line of molestation, which is just making matters worse in fact. "Two, because I am terrified I would wake up to you dead if I disappointed you." That was harsh enough that she hoped he would react, but he just kept looking up at her peacefully watching her come apart under his gentle gliding fingertips.

"Three, because I think you would regret it, which would make me feel horrible. Four, because I saw a side of you that isn't very nice and you hurt my feelings and five because it would feel like cheating on him….and.. Oh God John, you have to stop…"

"Drink." He whispered with an evil grin and he reached behind her and hands her the glass, but his other hand was still up under her skirt and very blatantly on her arse. She accepted it and drank, trying to move, but he stilled her. "Let me show you, why you should rethink that. One kiss, Molly. I will stop then. I swear. But, one kiss. Please," he purrs as he is already pulling her down toward his lips tossing her empty glass away somewhere on the couch without any further regard for its whereabouts.

His eyes are focused and if a robotic voice had stated 'target acquired' she couldn't have felt more helpless to the sudden guiding charm he directed at her.

As she leans forward, her crotch naturally slides against his and the state she found him in was tantalizingly firm. She has barely grasped this dizzying connection when his lips close to hers and he sucks all the breath from her lungs then breaths into her as if doing some reversed rescue breathing. She is startled to stillness at these sensations and his tongue gently darts between her lips and then he pulls her down harder pressing his promising willingness to please her eagerly against her dampening knickers and entering her mouth like no man had ever bothered to realize she could want. He demands all of her with skill and hideously aching claim.

He takes over all her objections and there is something so filled with raw power and visceral lust that her wits have completely collapsed into a mewling heap of wanton need that the sixth item on her list stops existing. A new list is forming, all leading to yes, when he flips her backwards and follows her down onto the couch, urgently begging her consent and receiving it without interference.

He finally backs away and she can see the regret on his face. She realizes that she is making a horrible mistake and startles at the thought of explaining this near life-bomb to Sherlock. "Oh god." She stands and does her best to smooth her clothing back into order. "John. That was the most. Um. I just.."

He is next to her and his hands are roaming more than freely now as he whispers softly, "That was just a kiss. Let me worship you. Come upstairs with me. Don't think. Don't make excuses to deny what you know we can have. He's not here. He didn't want us. We are left behind and we have to survive that truth. Give me one chance. I swear to you there will be no regrets. Just this night, forget with me? Let this one moment, not be about him, for us. Let this be ours. I need you."

Molly spins and meets his eyes, shaking her head trying to figure out how to make her exit, because she knows she won't be able to stop if he puts his mouth on her again. It is too much. He could sweep her away from all reason with one more kiss. "No. Please. We can't. I should go. That was unbelievable and I can't even explain how hard this is to say, but you and I don't care about each other and it …it …we would both be sorry and then say it was because we were cabbaged. Then the next thing I know you would stop speaking to me—"

"No. I wouldn't. Your right. We aren't madly in love with each other. But what we love is…dead and we both are going to die of sorrow if we don't find something, lovely and beautiful and good, to make all the shattered things we feel stop burning us up from within. Not saying it's the most brilliant plan, or without flaws. I am a little drunk and so are you, but not enough that I don't know what I'm saying. We will take it as it comes because all I can think of, just this second, is you. And it means something. Don't know what, but something. For the first time. Since." He swallows and shakes his head and his voice grows husky. She knows he's fighting tears, by how his voice hitches as he continues, "I want something. For the first time since that day. I'm not having a piss at you here. I swear it. You're the first thing I have felt in what feels like ten lifetimes. Please, god, don't say no."

"Maybe it isn't yes or no. I can't think, John. I have to think this through. I mean…I want to say yes, but I just can't. I am too drunk. I am too full of things I have no idea what…if we hurt each other, the price is too high. I need to go home and you need to take a moment and just think too. I can't trust it isn't just the booze and that would make me…I have enough trouble just—"

John steps back from her, face warping into calm. His eyes meet hers for a second then look at her chin. He inhales sharply and nods. He rubs his face, as if to wake up or be more sober. "Ok. I understand. It's fine. I can call you a cab, beings I destroyed your phone. I will buy you another. In fact, take my card and pick out whatever you want." He reaches into his pocket and moves away determinedly searching for his wallet. "Or you could stay. I would sleep on the couch or, you could have his room, I wouldn't disturb you…that would actually be fine. I'd like that. We could have breakfast…and…"He looks at her and seems to shrink a little, "or not. Wallet, wallet, oh, let me check in here."

"I have money. It's fine."

"Alright then. Call you a cab?"

"No. I'll just walk to Bart's. My neighbor works there, if I don't find one on the way. She has a car and she's working. She's a nurse. She will give me a ride when she gets off work."

"Long way. You shouldn't be out alone, without a phone. Please." His face seems like he's trying to figure out how to tell a patient bad news. "Just. Could you stay? I will worry…"

"I don't think so. John. I need the walk and some space, because I have no idea what this is and I wasn't prepared…at all…it isn't no…or even yes. I am …just…sorry. I'll come round tomorrow and we will sort it out in the daylight. I sort of care too much about you to…screw it up or expect the wrong things. That's all. That's all. You know I would like to. You said the other night it would go here. I should have listened…or maybe…I don't know."

"My fault there. My fault here too. I don't know either and I deeply apologize for my behavior. You have tried to be a friend and I keep …Jesus, I am as bad as him. Sure? About the cab I mean? I'd feel better…"

"Oh, well. Ok then."

"Good. How about a nice strong tea while you wait?" John runs his fingers through his hair and dials for the cab. Molly stands by the window, trying to make up her mind about leaving at all. John has been very closed lipped and perfunctory in his mild thoughtful actions while they waited. He picked up all the bits of her phone and put them in a little bag. He takes the glasses and the nearly empty bottle into the kitchen. He asks about her schedule. She answers but can tell he's not really paying attention. She has changed her mind several times as she sipped her tea when a high pitched squeal of breaks followed by a tooting horn, gives her the strength to make her exit.

As she pulled away, she glances up to the window and sees his face. He smiles and waves at her and she grins and returns it. She takes a deep breath and scoots down in the seat to nap a bit for the trip home. Her head is spinning and her mind is dancing on the edge of dosing as she thinks of where she wishes she were right this minute. She sighs, not wanting to think about what she just turned down. She aches with desire as she thinks of him. How did Sherlock stand to be near him all that time? She had always thought him to be like her, a little boring and too eager to please. That impression is changing rapidly. John is a lot more than she expected. Oh, yes, leaving was very hard.

She smiled as she thought about tomorrow. Maybe he was right? Maybe they could somehow heal each other a bit. Of course the big issue that she didn't want to think about would come round and spoil it all. When he found out that she knew Sherlock wasn't dead, he would have every right to hate her. And God, it really would be like cheating on him, somehow, beings he is alive. He said he cared for her almost as much as John and he was in love with him. In the end she would lose, one way or another. She would lose John. She would even lose Sherlock because he would blame her for not being selfless, faithful little doormat-Molly. Still, it could be worth the pain to for once have a lover who really wanted to please her as much as they wanted to please themselves. That kiss had been volumes of promised pleasures.

Tomorrow she would say yes. Damned the torpedoes and the inevitable storms, she was going to take something just for her. This wasn't about Sherlock. He pushed her, yes, but she didn't want John because of Sherlock telling her she should shag his depressed flat-mate.

She honestly wanted John because he was about as plain as a stick of dynamite. He might not seem very dazzling hiding in the shadow of Sherlock's spectacular display, but that didn't mean that the package gave away the inside. Inside, John Watson, was pure power and strength. He would destroy himself for someone he loved and that made him too good to be forced to suffer Sherlock's pretend death alone. Maybe, once Sherlock was back, he would think about her sometimes. That would be enough, really. Just to be with someone like him and have that memory, and even when he moved on, to see that little recognition in his eyes once in a while. That would be something.

She smiled, thinking of him looking down at her from the window. She wondered what he was doing right this minute. A trickle of dread fired a horrible thought that made her breath catch. What if he wasn't there tomorrow? What if she went there tomorrow and discovered that he had returned to the activity she had interrupted? She hadn't said no, but she had rejected him. He was pretty drunk, even though he handled it well. A depressed person, full of a substance that acted as a depressant who she just rejected. She pictured him at the window. His smile had not reached all the way to his eyes. The little wave, just an innocent gesture, unless it was the last glimpse she would have of him in life.

She sat up and her mind could picture his slumped posture, a small tremor before the deep breath of resolve. The sound of gunfire not aimed at her phone this time. There would be that crack as a projectile broke the sound barrier for the second time tonight in 221b Baker Street. Then a few thumps and muffled knock sounds as his agonal respirations cease then silence as the smoke from the discharged gunpowder wafts along unseen air currents now perfumed with blood.

If she waits until tomorrow and sentences herself to his post mortem, and because she cares she will, she would suck her feelings deep inside and be so gentle and respectful with him. It won't matter and he would probably think it funny that she would place his heart gently on the scale to weigh it. But she would always know that she could have done another thing and it might have mattered.

What would it do to her mind knowing that if she hadn't let fear put her in flight mode, that she would have known his warm living body as a source of pleasure rather than bits to be catalogued. Would she memorize the measurements as she would have memorized his first genuine post-coital smile? Of course, and then one day there would be no text from Sherlock and something cold in her would just know. He would be gone too. Her fear would end them both. Poor little Molly, so afraid of a moment of joy that she would walk away from bliss, rather than stand up and take something she needs as badly as he does.

It isn't even exclusively sex that she needs. She needs someone who needs her. Who could possibly need her more? Molly scoots forward and knocks on the little window as she says sweetly, "Excuse me, I have changed my mind. I think I forgot something and it really can't wait until tomorrow. If you could be so kind as to turn us around and drop me off exactly where you picked me up, I would appreciate it very much."

A.N. Yes I have yet to post a chapter that I didn't catch a spelling error - My upload document does not work so I have to erase the chapter and paste the new one in that slot - Sorry, try to deal with them for now and I will go back once it is finished. Thank you for the reviews and follows. The next chapter may seem a bit dark, but I mean for this to be putting Molly in as much stress as possible. That's rather the point...evil grin.